Wiping the Ledger Clean
by JaguarCello
Summary: High school AU where Loki is a bit of a pretentious evil hipster, and Tony Stark is the new guy who might just change him, or make him worse than ever. M for drug use, drunkenness and debauchery. And gay sex. I suck at summaries.
1. Chapter 1

Tony Stark was not a nice guy. That was a well-established fact, and everyone knew it, whether they'd met him or not. Within a few hours of his joining the school, rumours had spread like wildfire. He'd hacked into the grades system of his last school and failed all his classmates, just so that he could get them out of the office in order to sleep with the nurse. He'd been expelled from the school before for re-programming the sprinkler system so that the school flooded. He'd been arrested before for being drunk, _when he was twelve_. He slept with anything that moved. He was a genius. He was an arrogant playboy.

Most were true.

He must have known how people would react to him, because he turned up in a flashy convertible sports car (bright, obnoxious red), blaring Black Sabbath from the speakers and smoking what didn't smell like a cigarette. People turned, and when they saw him, they kept staring. He was short, and muscular, and hadn't bothered to shave that morning. He looked back at the rush of people surrounding him – boys gazing at the car with unmistakeable lust in their eyes, girls brazenly staring at his arms – and smirked, then jumped out the car.

The music followed him, playing now through an iPod which had been modified (cannibalised and rebuilt, to be accurate) to act as a loudspeaker. More and more people came to watch – new students were thin on the ground, and rarely as interesting as this one. He winked at a group of girls, dissolving them into giggles, and headed inside the building.

One pair of eyes had followed him with nothing more than disdain. From the shade under a yew tree, Loki Odinson watched the newcomer. His face, half hidden in shadow, remained a pale mask, but his green eyes burned. Smiling to himself, he walked around the corner-straight into the captain of the football team.

"Look who it is. It's the fairy." Nick Fury sneered at Loki, despite being shorter than him. He'd decided a long time ago that Loki was a target – he didn't do sports, he didn't go to parties, he only spoke to quote obscure poets or make sarcastic yet threatening comments – and because Loki had also decided to let Fury think that he was top dog, he allowed the abuse. It suited his purpose, and he always had the "bullying victim" status to fall back on, should he need some sort of extra push on his college applications.

He looked down at Fury (not his real name, as he had discovered when hacking the school system), and pictured him dead. "I have to go," he said softly, voice the polished glass of upper-class Britain, and walked away. A hand on his shoulder caused him to turn – Fury gripped him by the neck.

"Don't turn your back on me. That might work in your homo world, or back in England, but here, in the real world, where men are men and not fucking fairies, it doesn't work. You will face me like a man." He paused, as if waiting for his brain to catch up with his mouth. That, in fact, was probably exactly what he was doing, and Loki smirked. Fury spat at him – "You're a freak and everyone knows it. Your own brother is embarrassed of you and would rather hang around me – he knows a loser when he sees one. Is he even your brother? I mean, he's cool, and you're not. He gets all the girls, and you get pneumonia. He gets-"

Loki brought his knee up swiftly, and Fury doubled over in pain, but immediately his face was wrenched upwards and an onslaught of blows met him, each one a punch of iron and steel. He tried to push Loki off, but a fist hammered into his stomach, and his ribs cracked ominously – blood from a cut caused by one of Loki's rings ran into his eyes, and Loki lost himself in the glory and the power and the feeling-

"Loki Odinson!" a voice from behind boomed out. Loki sighed, rolling his eyes, but carried on hitting Fury. "Nobody compares me to my brother, you fool. You think you can take me on? You think you're _worthy_ to take me on? Well, many have tried. I will end you." His voice was barely a whisper, but the menace in it was clear. Fury's eyes rolled as he tried to focus through the haze of pain, and Loki stepped back.

"Brother, dear. You've deigned to notice me then? How kind. Oh, no, my favourite sibling –" he scowled slightly – "and the head master!" He bowed slightly, mockingly, to the principal. "Principal Coulson. I trust you've come to take me away in chains?" He laughed then, too loudly. People stared.

"Mr Odinson, I trust you have a good excuse this time? Your escapades are getting ridiculous, for the love of God!" The principal shook his head slightly, as if trying to calm down, and then paused.

"I assure you, _sir_, that the love of God does not enter into this. I got tired of Fury's… antics and decided to solve it. This was unplanned, however, because I was unable to get a knife." He stared unflinchingly into Coulson's eyes, as if daring him to question his sanity. Of course, he wanted everyone to question his sanity, but now would be somewhat inconvenient.

The principal sighed. "Okay, everybody clear off. Go to class," he shouted to the crowds that had gathered in the quad. "And you, my office. Come on. Fury, get yourself to the nurse's office. You'll need to go to the emergency room, get that chest looked at." He frowned, and then turned to walk towards the school. Loki stood where he was.

"Loki." Thor's voice, quieter now, warned his brother. "I have gotten tired of you playing stupid tricks. Do as he says, or I'll tell Father." The other students muttered amongst themselves – nobody had got used to the strange siblings from England, but were mostly too afraid of Thor to comment on his brother's oddness – and as one, left.

Loki shrugged, and followed the principal. His father's rage was well-known; he had once smashed a toy of Loki's because Loki had cheated at chess to win. Loki cheated at everything, now, and did exactly how he pleased – but he followed the orders of the principal, grudgingly.

"Stand there, shut up," Principal Coulson muttered, before going into his office. "Thanks, is that my coffee? Okay, I need to phone –" his voice was cut off as the door swung shut.

"What did you do?" Loki looked up, surprised to be spoken too. The voice was confident, brash American – but then to his ears, which had been fed Oxfordshire English from birth, all American accents were brash. It was the new boy he'd seen earlier –even shorter than he'd first thought, not even six feet (he certainly would _not_ stop using imperial measurements, although Thor had), but wearing a smirk.

Loki opened his mouth to reply, but the Principal called – "Anthony Stark!", and the boy shot him an apologetic grin, before opening the door. "It's Tony." He said, and Loki heard no more.

Tony Stark. Well, he didn't know how to keep out of trouble.


	2. Chapter 2

Loki waited, kicking his heels gently against the wall to leave black marks. He twisted round to look behind him; his brother's friend, Steve, was watching him. Steve was one of those people who would apologise if you pushed him over – he was the nicest, most decent person, possibly in the world. He had been the first one to talk to Loki, the last time he'd ended up at Coulson's office – Loki had moved all the books around in the library, putting the Bible in the Non-Fiction section, created a "Gay Porn" section (containing self-edited versions of classics, and a mutilated _Lady Chatterley's Lover)_ and set the place on fire when trying to light a cigarette next to the No Smoking sign– and Thor had seen him do so. Since then, they had become friends, bonding over the black sheep of the school. Well, the black sheep of the entire state.

"Hey, what did you do?" Steve was standing in front of him, a half-smile on his handsome face.

Loki didn't reply, glaring mutinously at the floor. He knew his brother would be told everything he said, and his brother would probably tell their father. Thor meant well, but he never thought things through. He never worked out the consequences of his actions, and so just to better him, Loki had become an expert at planning. Today's encounter, however, was not part of the plan. He studied his bruised knuckles intently, trying to block out Steve.

"What happened to your hands?" Steve reached out to examine his hands better, but Loki pulled them away. Nobody, not even one of his brother's closest friends, touched him, unless he planned it. He sighed, and then realised that he'd have to tell his brother everything anyway.

"Fury was taking the piss again, so I hit him." His voice sounded odd even to himself, but Steve's face changed from exasperation to slight admiration.

"Still using the English slang, then? What was he saying? Are you alright? I mean, he's shorter than you, but he's probably stronger." Loki's face remained impassive, and Steve scrambled to correct himself. "I mean he's fatter."

Loki snickered once, quietly. "He was calling me a fairy. Not sure where he got that idea from, and then he started comparing me to Thor. As if it's not enough to always be told by Father that I'm not good enough – I have to endure it here as well!" He was almost hissing now in his attempt to remain quiet, and his eyes were bright with angry tears. Blinking them away furiously, he carried on. "At home, all he ever says to me is "_Oh, your brother's trying out for the football team – maybe you should too_." Or, it's about girls – "_By the time Thor was your age, we'd already had one pregnancy scare with that girl from Chipping Norton_." Doesn't he realise that I'm not my brother? That I'm not good enough to be like him? I'm always in his shadow, and it's a big shadow to try to shake."

He paused, but before he could go on, the office door opened. Tony Stark almost _swaggered_ out, grinning. He had a mass of papers in his hands, and as he turned to close the door, they scattered. Swearing, he bent to pick them up. Steve started to help, and nudged Loki, fixing him with a stern glare – and Loki grudgingly began gathering them up.

He shuffled them into a pile, and bent to get the last piece of paper. It was a timetable, filled with "Advanced Placement" – so Tony Stark was bright. Very bright, in fact – he had more maths lessons than there were days in the week. Loki had competition, it would seem, although not even the best averages in the state could make his father notice him. They'd be in the same classes.

He handed the papers back to Tony, and stood, rolling his shoulders.

"Loki Odinson! Don't waste my time, or I'll tell your father. I know they're on different time zones in England, but here we like to be punctual!" Coulson was angry, clearly.

He walked into the office. "Actually, sir, it's Great Britain. But I see your point. Apologies." He smiled at the principal. "The new boy decided to throw his papers all over the hall." Coulson sighed.

"So, why did you decide breaking two ribs and giving the captain of the football team – who we need in the next game – a concussion, was a sensible move? I just got off the phone with his mom. She wants you to be excluded. Give me one good reason why I should let you stay." Coulson pointed towards a photo of the team at the last game they had won. "That photo was taken in 1999. We need to win. You need to control yourself. A good reason or you're out for two weeks."

Loki sat silently, considering his options. A two week exclusion would be unbearably dull; he needed people to manipulate, a willing audience. He shrugged. "Sir, I hit him because he was insulting me. He was calling me a fairy, and being a general moron. I thought you wanted us to stand up for ourselves? Isn't that what you Americans pride yourselves on, your guts and your ethics? He's been picking on me since I got here, for no other reason than I am not my brother. He and I are close in age, but not in temperament. And he insulted Thor, too. Since my mum left, Thor's the only family I feel close too."

His eyes widened, and glistened with tears – he had to be careful. Too much? The principal's face softened, though, so it was working. "I can't stand it anymore. I just want to be normal and to go to school without hassle – and he needed to be taught a lesson. I acted on behalf of all the bullied kids here; they need to see that they can stand up for themselves, sometimes."

Coulson looked at him. He opened his mouth as if about to speak, then stopped. Standing up, he walked around his desk and looked Loki directly in the face. "I have to make an example of you. I understand your reasoning though – and to be honest, that's what I would have done in high school. But my principal would do the same as I'm about to do. You're not excluded – God knows, we need to keep our best student in school, where we can _keep an eye on him_ and he won't get bored – but you'll have to go to detention for a week."

Loki shrugged, but he was pleased. Last time he'd gotten bored, he'd made a confetti bomb in the science labs – at least now, he'd be able to spend less time at home.

"Thanks, sir. I'd best get to class. Thank you!" He nodded at the principal and headed outside. Steve was still there, leaning against the wall. Loki scowled, but fondly. "Don't you have lessons to go to, rather than wait around for me to sort my life out?"

Steve smiled. "I'm not waiting for you, actually. I'm waiting for Clint, but his bus was late this morning and we both agreed not to go to Chemistry alone." Loki shot him a look – how pathetic could you get? "Do explain?"

"That foreign exchange student was paired up with us and we have to take turns, and she's terrifying. Well, I think Clint's more impressed than scared. I'm scared of her. At least he can speak a few words of Russian, and good luck to him, I suppose. Better him that me!" Loki grinned at that. Clint Barton was in the same classes as he was – Thor and Loki were very close in age, and so they shared many friends (apparently, Loki had been born very prematurely, allowing the brothers to be in the same year). Well, Thor thought they shared friends. Loki tolerated some of them. Clint was fairly serious, but once you made him laugh, he wouldn't stop for hours – and he had some weird hobbies. He was a pretty interesting guy – and now he fancied a Russian beauty? Typical, thought Loki, snickering under his breath.

"Have you seen my brother?" Loki asked. Thor would be wondering what had happened to him, and probably would want to moan at him again for ruining things – despite what Fury had said, Thor wasn't his friend.

"No, but I- hang on, there's Bruce. Hey, Bruce!" Bruce Banner looked up from across the hall. He was shy, and a near-genius, but unlike Loki he bothered to work. His temper was legendary, although whenever he looked angry, he managed to calm down. The rumours, according to Jane Foster (who had long harboured a crush on his brother), were that he'd managed to smash up his own car. With his bare hands. He was walking with Jane, probably both off to some sort of genius club.

"Steve! How're you, buddy? Oh, hi there Loki. In trouble again?" Bruce was one of those people who was always happy, always cheerful, and always pretty calm – probably compensating.

"You seen Thor? Our favourite delinquent wants to talk to him." Steve grinned, and looked as if he were thinking of ruffling Loki's hair. Well, it took time to do in the morning. He twisted away, but grinned at Steve.

"No, but if I see him – what's the punishment? You're not excluded, because I don't think they want to risk that again. Detention?" Loki nodded. "Well done, fine work." He rolled his eyes, and went off.

Loki sloped off to his own class. He had Chemistry, which was his favourite. He worked alone in Chemistry (he set fire to too many classmates) and he was the only one in the class who did so, which meant he had more space and more equipment.

The air in the lab was thick with smoke from various Bunsen-Burners, and the sound of glass shattering punctuated the low mutters of his classmates. He wove his way expertly around the lab benches, only to find someone in his seat.

"Tony Stark," said Tony Stark. "but you can call me Tony. Told me I had to sit here. I prefer working alone though, so don't be offended if I-" Loki broke in. "I prefer working alone. This is rubbish."

"Hey, you're Australian! Wow!"

Loki glared at him. "For the fifty-fourth time, I am not Australian. My accent is about as different to an Australian's, as a Yorkshireman's is different to someone from Sussex. And fine, I'll work with you, but if I set fire to you, take it personally."

Tony put a hand to his heart, and pretended to swoon. Dear God, Loki'd been landed with an idiot for a lab partner. Then, he held out the same hand. "If we have to work together, we should make the best of it. I'm arrogant and I don't work well with others. You seem like a bit of a pretentious hipster. We should get along well."

Loki shook the hand, unable to hide the smirk across his face.


	3. Chapter 3

**AN: I don't know much about US high schools. Luckily, Loki is British so can provide my point of view on the crazy grade system! This one's a little short - apologies - but I have exams right now. Next one (in a week, max) will be longer. And have more action. **

**Read and Review! If I get even a couple of reviews I will do a giveaway of 20p and some lemon cake.  
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**I own nothing, only my perverted imagination.  
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"So, whereabouts in England are you from? Where's home?" Loki looked up from his titration calculations, eyes narrowed. Why did Stark care about his life? Nobody else in the school ever had. He'd be ostracised from the start, which was his own fault – apparently he was too manipulative and clever for the average redneck to handle, and since then he'd kept himself to himself.

"Home?" he repeated, almost absent-mindedly. Did he even have a home anymore? Yes, he had his brother and father, but he was the runt of the litter. He couldn't play sports, or drink his own body mass in beer, or fuck girls for hours. He wasn't like the rest of them, and their home was full of Thor's achievements and trophies and medals – a reminder every day of how different he was. Their father had wanted to stick to the wall the pregnancy test thing that girl had taken, but luckily, he'd relented when Loki had accidentally thrown it into a clinical waste bin outside a hospital. That had been a good move, and Loki's hands clenched into fists when he remembered how Odin had reacted. Public outing in front of the whole family (it wasn't even strictly true, for God's sake!) had not been fun.

"Hey, Earth to Sputnik. Where are you from? You sound posh, but that might just be the foreign." Tony was getting impatient – one minute, the guy was totally focused, and the next he was probably going off on an internal monologue about world domination. He was that sort of guy, from what Tony had seen of him – and when Loki didn't reply, he nudged him.

Loki almost _threw_ himself away from Tony's touch, the lab stool teetering precariously. "Don't touch me," he forced out, teeth clenched. He stood up, and made to grab at his books, but Tony snatched them before he could. "Look, I'm quite used to getting my way, okay? It comes with the territory. And I want to know where you're from, because I'm curious. Maybe you guys are touchy about that sort of stuff back in England, I don't know – " Tony paused, and Loki sat back down slowly. The teacher hadn't looked up, but did so now.

"Loki Odinson, I hope we're not having a repetition of this morning's disagreement?" She was one of his favourite teachers, Miss Potts (despite being married, the whole school knew her as Miss) – and for a while, he'd tried to pretend he fancied her. Which was quite cool, because (as many of the jocks could testify) she was _hot_. That wasn't why he liked her though (not really his area) – she was fair and, for a teacher, pretty funny. Today she was in a bad mood though; her red hair was scraped back off her head, and her wedding ring was missing, again.

Loki started to speak, but Tony practically _shouted_ "No, just talking to Loki here about titrations – I don't really -I'm a little behind on this module, because we didn't do it at my old school. Well, we did, but I was otherwise occupied with a girl and her –"

Miss Potts broke in. "Thank you, Mr. Stark. Next time, try not to answer for Mr. Odinson, please? And well, Loki – you needed detentions, right? You can both have them. Tony, for being stoned before school –" she glared at him with a look that said _"I can smell it on you, so don't deny it"_- "and you for the fight this morning. Perfect. You can help each other." Both boys looked at her, with mixed expressions. Loki's face was stony and impassive, but Tony's eyes glinted with amusement.

"This could be fun, Wooster," Loki's eyebrows rose, and he turned to look incredulously at Tony, before rolling his eyes and facing front once more. Tony snickered. "Hey, upset about the nickname? He's the only posh English guy I know, and he's a bit of an arrogant airhead, so I thought –"

Loki leant forwards until he could whisper without being heard by Miss Potts. "If you insult me again, _Stark_, you will pay. I may not be the most imposing person around, but I'm clever. And I know how to play the long game; I've been playing one against my father ever since I can remember." Tony tried to break in, but Loki carried on talking, the words rushing out of him now. His pale face was flushed, and his eyes sparkled with tears of anger. "My brother, as you may realise, is somewhat of a god round here. He's older, but I was born early enough to be in the same year – grade, whatever, which is why I'm skinny still." His voice rose. "He loves me, I suppose, in his bull-headed way, but my father wants me to be like him. I'm not. At all."

Tony paused, and then, looking into Loki's face, said "My father wasn't much of a father, either. He made mistakes, and he drank to forget the mistakes, and he drank to forget me. My mom tried her best, but she couldn't stop him from drinking. He didn't like me; I was a bratty kid who messed around with his machines. He's dead now; they both are. Last year." The bitterness and anger in his voice surprised Loki; other people had shitty lives too.

"Oh, competing? My father has told me that if I don't stop being a fairy boy, and start being a man, he'll tell the world that I'm not his son. He'll disinherit me. It wouldn't bother me, but all I do is try to please him! Thor can be a stupid arse and nothing will happen to him, but if I don't come home drunk enough, he'll be furious." Loki closed his eyes for a second, and breathed deeply. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter – some of the other kids in the class had been looking at him. "I suppose that's why I choose to ruin my life with things he can't detect, or doesn't know about. Not seriously, you understand."

Tony's face was almost comical, a mask of shock. Loki snorted. "I don't see why you're so shocked. You're at least a little stoned still. You're probably drunk. I drink secretly, and he doesn't care. I try everything and anything to distract myself, because I get bored. And if he did know, he'd be more disappointed than ever. Thor doesn't know. My mum left years ago. There's nobody." Loki's voice faltered. He closed his eyes again and shook his head very slightly.

"So, I guess we're both pretty messed up. You need to stop taking whatever it is you take, stop sleeping around (I can smell it on you, by the way), stop being a whiny little shit. I need to stop getting drunk and stoned and sleeping around. And possibly stop whining. And, you need to teach me about titrations. You get picked on, don't you? I get that you – what was it? "Play the long game" – but I can help you, if you want." Tony smiled beguilingly, his cocky grin hiding the shock he felt at how messed up the strange boy was. He knew what alcoholics looked like; he knew drug addicts. But Loki was different to any he'd seen before.

"Oh, you're ordering me around? Thanks, but no thanks. I fight my own battles. If you're looking for friends, try Steve bloody Rogers. He's always looking for a lost cause." With that final parting shot, salt in the wound, Loki turned and pulled his books out from where Tony's hand still rested slackly on the pile, and walked out.

Tony watched him leave, and had Loki not been such a pretentious dick with stupid dress sense, he would have thought he were strangely attractive when he was ordering people round.


	4. Chapter 4

Loki cursed under his breath as he left. Miss Pott's eyes flew up as he slammed the door, but she didn't say anything – she'd met his father, seen his scars – she knew some of the shit he had to go through. The last time they'd met, she'd tried to tell Odin that Loki was truly gifted at the sciences. Odin had retorted that it was a "womanly" subject, and that no son of his would do anything like that at college – he was worth far more than being a "lab rat". In response, Loki had made a bomb in the lab, and detonated it in his father's office. Luckily, it was only confetti. But his father had been shaken enough to insist that Loki see a physiatrist.

Loki had gone once. It hadn't been a success; he'd managed to make her cry by talking about her ex-husband, and had since spent the money his father gave him for the sessions on whatever stimulants he could find. It was, he assured himself frequently, a far better use of the money, which broadened his mind greatly, and irritated his father. He'd stolen the notes from the sessions – "sociopathic tendencies, deep-seated rage towards father, competition with (elder) brother, anger management issues, fluid sexuality linked to APD" – and had contrived, since then, to hide the more _distasteful_ parts of his personality. It hadn't worked so well, but he was trying. Gold star for effort and all that.

He pulled himself back to the real world with effort. It was lunchtime; the cafeteria was crowded with people. People who looked at him with something other than fear, now they knew what he'd done to Fury. It was more… disgust, and hatred, and anger. This would be difficult. He'd spent all his life trying to be like Thor. He was smaller than him, but due to a quirk of birth he was in the same year. They had the same friends – well, Thor had friends. Loki had targets. They were all so _nice_.

"Loki!" Clint shouted his name from across the cafeteria, and waved. He was sitting with the redheaded Russian girl he'd obviously befriended. He leaned towards her and whispered something – and she fixed him with an icy glare. He'd gone too far, perhaps. But that was Clint – ruthlessly focused on anything that caught his interest, sometimes beyond the normal. Like that time he'd tried to bring his bow and arrows into school on Sports Day.

Loki waved half-heartedly in response, and walked over, shoulders slumped. "Where's Thor?" Clint exchanged a glance with the girl – "Natasha, this is my friend Loki!", Clint had introduced enthusiastically, as if willing Loki to love her – and shook his head. "He's gone off again. Probably with Jane."

Loki smirked at that. Jane Foster was beautiful. It was accepted by all, but she didn't realise it. She was shy, unless you crossed her or insulted astrophysics, and Thor was besotted with her. She was equally enamoured with him, and had persuaded him to _grow a beard_ for some reason. He liked the two together; Thor wasn't such an idiot as normal, and their father was waiting to hear wedding bells any day. Sure, they were only 18, but Loki was almost as sure as Odin that they'd be together for the rest of time. "An example to us all," he said, and inclined his head regally towards Clint and Natasha.

Clint almost blushed, and turned to yell across the room once more – "Bruce, Darcy! Steve!" He turned back to Natasha, and said "All the gang!" before waving like a maniac. "I see you've chosen today to test your caffeine limits?" Loki said, before rolling his eyes and slouching back in his seat. These weren't really his friends; if it weren't for his brother, they wouldn't care about him, he told himself.

The rest of "the gang" walked over. Well, the gang that weren't currently canoodling in an empty classroom (Loki had walked in on them once, which was enough to reassure him that he definitely didn't like girls much), at least. They nodded a hello, and then launched into interrogation mode.

"So, Loki, who's the new guy? Heard he's in your classes, and heard you told him to make friends with me?" Steve grinned at him, before reaching out a hand to ruffle his hair. Loki ducked, and glowered. "Oh, how rumours spread like wildfire. He's in my AP classes, and I don't know about the others. Clint might know."

Clint looked up from where he was explaining to Natasha about archery (at least Loki presumed that was what he was miming) and shook his head. "Not had any with him so far, but he's in my classes as timetabled. You have to look after him, don't you?" Loki shot him a look of hatred, and he shrugged. "That's the message I got, which your brother told me. And he knows because your father told him about it. I think Thor told your dad. Shit, mate."

Loki breathed in deeply, nostrils flaring slightly as he fought to keep calm. "Look, I have to help him in Chemistry. That's all. He's in all my lessons, and because the Fates bloody hate me he's working with me in all my lessons. He's arrogant and a show-off and –"

Thor threw himself bodily into one of the chairs across from Loki, and Jane sat down next to Darcy, who raised an eyebrow at their somewhat rumpled clothing, but said nothing. "Who's arrogant?" Jane asked, threading her fingers through Thor's. Darcy mimed being sick, but patted their clasped hands fondly.

Bruce leaned forwards, and said "The new guy? He's meant to be some sort of delinquent – you should get on well." He smiled, and Loki couldn't help but chuckle under his breath. Thor scowled, and cuffed Loki in what was presumably meant to be an affectionate way. "He's not a delinquent. He's just difficult to handle."

Thor still spoke English as their father did, with the nuances and pronunciation of a previous century. Loki, on the other hand, had managed to successfully navigate the colloquialisms and insults of high school – he'd been at Eton before, where everyone spoke as Thor did, apart from the boys who fancied themselves as chavs – although he still got some of the Americanisms muddled. Luckily, his accent more than explained his slight over-formal manner.

Loki raised an eyebrow. "Difficult? Oh, you flatter me. I'd much rather be a delinquent. It's better than being a fairy – don't you think Father would agree?" He stared at his brother, daring him to retort, whilst the rest of the group awkwardly pretended not to be listening. Thor sighed visibly, and put his other (huge) hand on Loki's shoulder. Loki shook it off.

"Be careful brother, the gay might be catching. Isn't that what Father used to say? I'm only doing it – doing them –" (Thor winced visibly) –"to annoy him. I think it works. And if the only way to get him to notice me is to sleep around and bring them home at 5am and get drunk before your football games, and take every fucking thing I can, then I'll do it."

There was a slight pause. Steve looked towards Loki, and in that infuriatingly nice way he had, smiled. "Loki, I know you've obviously had a hard time. And I get that it's not my business at all, but you need to talk to your dad. And maybe you should talk to the new guy? He's got a dick for a dad – no offence Thor – and you should compare notes. Or something." He neatened his already-perfect hair.

"Why would I want to talk to a spoilt brat who thinks he's a genius, when in fact all he does is mess around with machines? Why would he waste his time with metal and wires when he could be messing with minds?" The others looked at Loki. Damn, he'd been too obvious. "Not that I do. Just saying. Machines are inferior, and if he really is a genius he'd understand titrations. Even Thor can do those."

Thor looked up from where Jane had been tracing a pattern onto his hand with her thumb – disgusting _couples_ – and snorted. "Now is not the time for petty arguments. Steve is right, Loki. This madness has to end."

Loki snorted in return, incredulously. "Is it madness? Is it? All I want is to be recognised by my father. But I've been overshadowed by you, all my life."

"Oh, the same record. Forgive me, I don't know you, but you're whining." The Russian exchange's voice – unaccented, throaty, attractive – broke through his oft-repeated monologue. "I think you should calm down, take a step back. Stop taking the stuff. It doesn't work," she said softly, and there was something in her eyes that suggested she knew what she was talking about.

"So, I should talk to him? What will that achieve? We're both very clever, and we're both arrogant, I suppose. Although he doesn't appear to be as unhinged as you clearly all think I am," and the acerbic tone of Loki's voice surprised the group. He twisted in his chair, and pushed his hair out of his eyes – it was getting too long again, and starting to annoy him.

A loud voice jolted him, and the whole cafeteria stared as Tony Stark, complete with tray groaning with food and another stack of papers, careered towards their table.

"Science buddy! Man, am I glad to see you! This place is like a maze – how do you ever find anything?" He flung himself onto the seat next to Loki, knocking the table slightly and spilling Steve's drink as he did so. Steve grimaced, but didn't say anything.

Tony looked at the people staring at him. "Hey, hope I'm not interrupting. What is this, a super-secret boyband? With some girls? Why are you all staring? Why aren't you talking?" He frowned slightly, and then the easy smirk was back on his handsome face.

"It's Loki, right?" He grabbed Loki's hand, and tried to shake it, but Loki snatched it away. "Oh, okay, sorry, I forgot you don't like being touched. Yet." He looked around at the group once more, and spotted Thor's stony look of disapproval. "Hey, hey, do you want me to go? It's just I'm new. And I'm lost, and I only know this guy in the whole school, and the principal wants us to hang out together."

He turned back to Loki, and perched on the chair back precariously. "Potts wants us to do a project in Science. It can be about anything science-based, and we're getting assessed."

Loki rolled his eyes to the heavens. "I suppose this will contribute to my GPA? Or am I muddled?" Tony started to speak, but Loki waved a hand imperiously. "I won't understand. I don't like your crazy system here." He pulled his (oversized) cardigan round him, but said "Where do we work? My place is a bit shitty – one room, my dad is moaning because I've not got anyone pregnant, and next room, those two-" he pointed at Thor and Jane, who were staring at the exchange –"are trying to get her pregnant." He jabbed his thumb at Jane, who reddened as Thor's arm pulled her closer to him, protectively."You're loud, and it's distracting when I'm trying to take over the world."

There was a pause, and the group let the pause stretch. Loki had never talked to anyone like that – never been that easy going. The last time someone had tried to befriend him, Loki had persuaded him to take cocaine (which, for some reason, he was carrying around) and he'd ended up in hospital. Loki had then refused to pay the bill, and had left the boy, in no uncertain terms, with the threat that if he tried to "befriend me again, you little shit, I will end you." Loki was an unsociable little git – the only thing he and his father agreed on – and because of that escapade, the football team hated him. The boy had later emerged from hospital as Nick Fury.

Well, not all the football team hated him. Steve and his brother tolerated him, but that was about it. And it was their sheer strength that kept Fury and his minions from doing any more damage – Loki had kept a flick knife up his sleeve for almost four months before he learnt how to handle them.

Tony looked around again, aware of the ugly silence. He sniffed, and then smirked at Loki. Leaning forwards on his chair, he said "My place, then? I've got computers even you would drool over. And my parents are dead. We can get pizza." His flippancy unsettled the others – Bruce looked daggers at him, as did Natasha (who was seemingly welded to Clint's side, which was presumably the reason why he was keeping quiet).

Loki's mask cracked into an easy smile, and it reached his eyes. "Sure."

Tony grinned back, and said "Come on, we need to talk about science." He stood up, and – bizarrely- Loki stood up too. "Only if Bruce and Jane can come. They're basically geniuses. And yes, that is the correct Latin plural." Bruce smiled, and Jane disentangled herself from Thor, and stood. They walked out, and for once, the silence wasn't there because people were embarrassed to be near Loki and his "sociopathic tendencies". It was there because this Tony had struck a chord with him, and nobody had done that, ever.

"Well, that was unexpected. Did he just make a friend? Or do you think he's manipulating him? It was a real smile, but it might be that he just wants to look cooler. Not that he cares, but he's a shameless diva. Hey, maybe he fancies him!" Darcy was almost shouting with a mixture of surprise and delight, as well as pride. She thought of Loki as her project – he needed to be tamed. "He is… sober, isn't he? Thor?"

Thor looked pained. "He didn't come home last night, and he was violent this morning – Fury's in hospital because of him, again. And this? I don't know, Darcy. Loki is beyond reason."


	5. Chapter 5

**AN: Thank you for your reviews! If I fail my maths GCSE I blame you lot. Apologies for any Brit stuff that is incorrect. **

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The cafeteria door swung shut behind the four, and the whispers and mutterings were cut off. Tony held his over-burdened lunch tray in front of him, and, looking round, saw that nobody else had any food. Did nobody eat round here? The big blond guy – Thor? – had eaten enough to feed an army, but none of the other acquaintances he'd made had done so. Weird.

He leaned forwards from where he was walking (in the middle of the group, in front of Bruce and Loki, who trailed behind), and tapped Jane on the shoulder. "So, I hear you're into astrophysics?" She turned, startled. How did he know? Loki hadn't told him – from what she'd gathered, Loki hated him. He grinned sheepishly at her surprise. "I hacked the system, sorry. Well, I'm not sorry, because I know lots of information about the school. Disciplinal records, familial state, criminal records, that sort of thing. Well, I say the school. I mean the pupils. And the teachers – their sordid little affairs are there for all to see."

There was a pause, and Loki loped forwards to walk next to Tony. "And what, may I ask, did you find? Who's that, for example? I trust you have an eidetic memory." He pointed at a girl with long dark hair, pulled back from her forehead. She was walking to the cafeteria, and as she passed the group, she scowled openly at Loki. He smiled back, charmingly, and raised his eyebrows at Tony.

"Sif. Not sure on her second name – was it even there? She lives with her brother, and you cut her hair off – when was it? A few years ago." Loki started at this – he wasn't expecting that to emerge, and it grew back! Granted, not the same colour or texture, but she had hair. And it wasn't his fault that her genetics are clearly flawed. His mouth curved into a crooked smile, and Tony went on. " You were childhood friends – that's made clear by the file. Dear me, this school is _nosy_ – that was all on the gossipy emails sent between some of the staff. She's gagging for Thor, apparently. And _my god_ she's hot."

Jane turned and looked at Sif's departing back. "Jesus," she said under her breath, and then louder, for the benefit of Bruce as well -"You sure know how to make a girl feel good about herself, don't you Stark?" Tony turned, genuine regret in his eyes. They passed through the corridor into the courtyard outside, and Loki's face looked paler than ever in the harsh sunlight. Tony looked away, and swallowed.

"I'm sorry. I didn't think – look, I'm no good with emotions, okay? I can barely navigate my own, let alone fucking talk about them." Bruce lifted his head at the swearword, and winced. "Okay guys, let's calm down. Science. Okay. So, Jane's into physics, I like all of it. What about you? And you, Loki? I mean, you don't talk much-"

Loki interrupted, in a smooth voice that cut through Bruce's words. "I like chemistry. I like explosions and fire and ice, I like it when I can make things happen that aren't supposed to. Bombs and blasts, gunpowder. That sort of thing." He smiled at Bruce, but his eyes didn't light up. In truth, he wasn't interested in anything much, apart from trying to sabotage the lives of his father and brother. But he needed distractions – his mind was a rocket engine, and the banality of everyday life burned it up. Plus, he would never tell the truth if a lie worked better.

"Explosions are fascinating. They're rather like my brother, in fact." Loki watched as Jane's face worked, but he pressed on smoothly before she could say anything. "You see, they're blunt and obvious. They're brutal, and rather an amateur's method. I prefer more subtle methods. Whereas Thor –" Jane half-clenched her fists –"is an idiot. I've lost the metaphor, but you get my drift, don't you?" His smile stretched, sardonically, across his face, and Tony decided to cut in.

"I like engineering – so, applied physics. And computer science. I know that to you highbrows, it seems like a pretty nerdy thing to do, but I'm good at it." He smiled, trying to defuse the strange tension that Loki had created, but to no avail.

"Oh, Jane, did he tell you about the girl from Chipping Norton? Because it's all I hear about at home. When you meet my father, he'll probably try to show you the ultrasound pictures. Well, I say "my father", but he's not any sort of father you'd want to boast about." Loki smirked. "He'd love you though. I mean, he thinks you've met, but he gets confused with all my brother's past… conquests," and Jane turned and fled.

"Loki, that – what are you doing?" Bruce's face was a study in incredibility. "She's good for your brother. He's calmed down and stopped fighting, he's stopped drinking – you should take his example, my friend. He _loves_ her, really. And maybe if you loved anyone apart from yourself, you'd understand. You're just a child."

With that, he followed Jane down the corridor, calling after her.

"Well," Tony said. "Call me a cynic, but I don't think that went very well. Seriously, I thought I had issues. At least I tried to get on with my family! You only brought them with us so that you could goad them, didn't you? I've been here five minutes and I've heard so much about you-" he broke off, and steepled his long fingers together.

"Oh?" Loki's face was amused, but his hands – fingers folding and curling together – betrayed his nervousness. Not that he'd admit to it. "What have you heard? This should be amusing."

Tony paused, and then shrugged. "You asked for it. But first, I need to eat, or I'll die on you."

Loki raised an eyebrow again, but nodded, and led them to a bench outside. There were two free, one in the shade, and one in the sun. He walked towards the shady one. "Hey, come on, when do we get nice weather round here? Sit in the sun, what are you – a vampire fancyboy?" Tony protested loudly. Several heads turned to look – Loki Odinson, socialising, was an unheard-of sight – and mutters broke out.

"Well, I heard that you're crazy. Properly crazy, officially. And that you tried to kill your dad, and that you'll fuck anything that moves, as long as it will annoy your dad." Loki's face remained a mask of amusement, and Tony went on, after taking a cautious bite of his pizza. "I heard you mess with people – I'm guessing like you messed with Jane – for fun. You get off on it." He looked at Loki, and he shifted slightly under Tony's gaze.

"Well, that's all very interesting. I have fun with people, and they deserve it because they're idiots –"

Tony snorted through a mouthful of chips. "Oh, poor little genius? I know how you feel! I have no idea why I'm being forced to do high school again! Something to do with my teamwork skills, or something. I understand everything. I look at the world, and I see patterns, and nobody else can see them. Nobody gets it. They're too slow, too stupid, too idiotic. Well, I feel the same as you. So maybe we should stick together – you need a moral compass, and as poor as I am at that role, I'm better than nothing." He swallowed hard, and dumped his empty tray under the seat. "There are cleaners." he shrugged.

Loki looked up, shocked. He'd spent so long trying to fathom how people could be that stupid, and that slow, that he'd forgotten he wasn't the only one. "Why? What would you get out of being friends with me?" He almost stumbled on the words, but carried on, raking his fingers through his hair. "In case you haven't noticed, I'm a nobody even in my own home. I've done so much to try to prove to my father that I'm… worthy. And it sounds old-fashioned and idiotic, and I know I'm a broken record. They all expect sentiment." He spat the word, bitterly. "But I hate everyone I ever meet. " He blinked, and his eyes were bright green and shining with tears of anger.

Tony looked at him, the same height when they were sitting down. Fucking hell, emotions again. "My father told me –" Loki glanced at him with slight surprise, but accepted the seemingly random change in topic –"that I should be more sociable. I built machines to act as friends, and they never cancel on me. But apparently it's a little odd. I know that today, I was only briefly introduced to your friends," he chuckled darkly "if you could call them that, and if they still are your friends! But I liked them." He grinned at Loki, mood switching again, like the flicker of an old television set.

"I don't like them as much as I should. I don't like you. You're arrogant, and pig-headed, and you're a dickhead. And you think you have some great gift with girls, when in fact they just see a short bloke who needs to shave. And clean the engine oil off his hands. And you're annoying."

Loki paused for breath, but before he could continue with his tirade, Tony laughed. He laughed so loudly that people across the courtyard, who'd gone back to their lattes after it transpired that there was to be no scandal, looked up in alarm. Someone cool was talking to _Loki Odinson_? football team had spotted them, and their star quarterback - Loki wasn't sure of his name, but the name the cheerleaders shouted was Thanos (Greek?) – yelled across the quad. "Maybe he needs a hit of whatever the fuck the faggot's on half the time!" Tony kept laughing, his face creasing and eyes leaking, and then one of the team members (they seemed to travel together, like a pack, Loki observed) called "Looks like he's had some already!"

Loki stuck his tongue out, proving a point (judging by the jeers), although he wasn't sure what. He was sober, today – he'd not had anything for a few days, but his hands had stopped shaking by now. He was fine, he didn't need it, he told himself.

"I still need help with chemistry. Yeah, yeah, still a genius, but not so hot on titrations." Tony looked over at the football team, and when Thor appeared, with Steve, he saw Loki flinch visibly. "And plus, we need to give them something to talk about, or the rabble will go mad." He smiled.

"Next week? I've got stuff on this week. But your GPA (is that right?) won't decrease in a week, surely? I have no idea how any of this works, and I don't want to know. Soon, I can go back to Britain. When I'm 18. So, yeah, next week? Your house." Loki didn't look at Tony, who was still staring at the football team.

"What? Oh, yeah. Right. My house, because you have the whole fucking family thing going on. I would apologise for the joke but it's good." He grinned.

"We have a comedian in the house, ladies and gentlemen. Lock up your daughters." Loki's voice was warm, but where Tony could not see, he smirked.


	6. Chapter 6

he next week almost flew by. It was a welcome change for Loki - time was usually slow for him, with nothing to distract from the tedium. At least, not until he could get his hands on something mind-altering, but Thor had thrown out the contents of the battered tin he kept under his bed (security reasons - everyone needs a lifeline once in a while). Loki had raged at him for days, and even when in lessons had been plotting revenge silently. Of course, his marks had been stellar as ever (at least, in the classes he bothered to work in), and he'd had a new distraction, anyway. It was Friday, and tonight was when he and Tony were going to meet up.

Tony Stark had almost slid into the group, fitting a space nobody knew had existed until now. He was rude to everyone, but he assured them it wasn't personal, and that he was an orphan and couldn't help it; people tolerated it. Despite being stocky and strong, he'd not joined any sports teams, much the surprise of Steve and Thor.

"Hey, Stark," Steve said lightly one lunchtime, "Why aren't you on the football team?" He grinned at Tony (Loki was the only one who called him by his first name, much to the amusement of everyone else - who were used to the exact opposite of manners from Loki), and Thor broke in. "I like the football they play here. I didn't think I would, but it's similar to rugby. When I was at Eton-" the group rolled their eyes as a collective, and Loki snorted. He'd been shunted off to a different school because their father didn't want there to be "competition" between the two of them. Thor smiled ruefully, and Tony shrugged in reply.

"Well, I'd much rather let you two get on with throwing yourselves at other guys and wearing silly hats - I can just stand here and look kinda pretty." He smiled winningly at Thor, who hadn't picked up on the insult. Steve, however, puffed out a derisive laugh. "Hey, the hats are pretty cool! I like them, anyway. And well, the team has been practicing hard lately,because Fury's still in the hospital."

He paused to glare at Loki, who beamed at him, but carried on before Loki could retort. "So I've been made captain in his absence, and I think we might have a chance of winning this. At least, if nobody decides to leave me with a fractured skull or whatever you did to him." Thor nodded in agreement. "Loki, you should apologise to Fury. You damaged his eye, did Principal Coulson tell you?"

Loki remained silent, and Thor sighed. "Brother, when you hit him round the head, you scratched his eye (I think it's the left?) with one of your ridiculous rings. And he's going to have to wear a patch until it is healed. You should apologise." The group was silent - clearly none of them had heard about this latest development. Darcy looked at Jane, sitting across from her, and winced - she had hated Fury, who (as a bit of a bully) used to take things from her locker in middle school. She would still moan to anyone who'd listen about her iPod he'd taken, although the principal had got it back - but still, to lose an eye? As one, everybody swivelled until they were looking at Loki, who stared defiantly back with a curl to his lip.

"Stop smirking!" Natasha, who'd become a permanent fixture at Clint's side (besotted with her, he was forever carrying her books or holding doors), spat out a curse in Russian. Everyone looked up - her temper was legendary, and apparently she could kill you with only a blunt pencil; the rumour was that she'd done just that back in Russia, although everyone was too afraid to ask. "You shouldn't be proud of yourself for hurting people! It feels good now, but later it will cripple you. Trust me. I'm not one to judge whether or not you should apologise, but you should repent." She paused. Usually she didn't get involved with the politics of the group - like Clint, she preferred not to waste words.

Jane, who'd not really forgiven Loki from his taunts of a week ago, nodded in agreement. "You should apologise. I'd go now, when he's still in the hospital - he might hurt you otherwise."

Loki rolled his eyes, but shrugged and muttered something under his breath. Then, looking back up at the group, he raised his eyebrows and shrugged again. "Fine. If only to keep you lot off my back." Thor smiled, and reached out to pat Loki (cuff him?) on the shoulder, but Loki flinched away.

Bruce, sitting in the corner with some friends from whatever odd math class he and Tony had joined, smiled. "Oh, guys, I met these two in that math club I went to. Well, they're Tony's too, but obviously he's been distracted again. So, Eric Lenh- Lesh-" The boy with dark hair and steely grey eyes quirked his mouth into a half-smile at Tony's salute, and said "It's Lehnsherr, Bruce. But yeah, you can call me Erik." His voice had a faint German accent; he turned to his friend, who blushed, poppies blooming on his pale cheeks. "This is-"

The other boy broke in. "Charles. Charles Xavier." He was English, and Loki and Thor both turned to look. Posh English- Oxfordshire accent. Loki looked at his clothing - well-pressed, well-kept white shirt, dark trousers. Obviously very clever. "I was at Oxford - the university? But then my mother decided to move us to here. My sister's here too." He paused, and realised how much he'd been talking, and blushed again, before running a hand through his hair and turning back to his friend.

Loki smiled at Bruce, gratitude full on his face. Hopefully, this would distract Thor (it didn't take much) and allow him to sneak away unnoticed. The cafeteria was crowded, but not so crowded that he could walk away with them spotting him - he needed a smoke, and Thor hated him smoking. Obviously it was for selfish reasons (obviously) - it damaged his lungs and so damaged his chances of becoming a star athlete. He seemed perfectly willing to become the perfect American, like Steve. Loki snickered under his breath. Steve was fiercely patriotic, and wanted to join the Marines after college. He'd probably get in as well - they loved that sort of hopeless optimism.

Whilst the rest of the group started questioning the newcomers about their lives ("Oh my god! Your family grew up in a concentration camp? Cool! Well, not cool, but - oh, you know what I mean..." from Darcy, with her usual tact), Loki knocked his empty tray to the floor. He then stood up to retrieve it, planning on walking away.

It would have worked, but Tony saw him. He stood, too, and walked briskly out the room, not looking back. Loki rolled his eyes, impressed at his planning, and followed him. Nobody in the group even saw him leave, or noticed. Good. They just carried on exclaiming over a (totally boring) stolen relic of Erik's - an old German coin, which he rolled around in his palm. Some sort of soothing thing? He knocked a chair just before the door, and Natasha looked up. She saw him walking out (and had presumably noticed Tony leaving), and frowned slightly. She didn't tell anyone, but nudged Clint until he slung an arm around her shoulder.

Once outside, Loki started rummaging in his bag for his lighter and cigarettes, scanning the quad for Tony. He finally spotted him leaning nonchalantly against the wall where they'd sat the other week, and headed over towards him, head still in the bag. Tony raised a hand in greeting as he came over.

"Why'd you scarper?" Tony didn't look at him, but was watching a group of girls on the other side of the quad. One of them had noticed, and shook out her long blonde hair, preening under his gaze. Loki looked away, and pulled a cigarette packet out of his bag, waving it in Tony's face. Tony's face twisted into a smile. "Ah, illegal smoking. What would Coulson say?"

"He'd probably tell me to do another week of detentions, and probably with you. He'd make me teach you the violin or something. Not that I play," he said in response to Tony's mocking guffaw. "He seems to think that I'm... what was the word he uses? Oh, "sensitive". Well, now he uses "volatile" and "dangerous" a lot more. I don't really care though." His voice was low, and bitter, and he put the cigarette in his mouth, then cupped his hands around it and lit it. The flame flared up ("I modified the lighter," he said in response to Tony's jerk backwards) and lit up his face; his eyes danced for a second.

"Fag?" he said, and Tony started spluttering. "What? Me? No! Nope, not at all. Not a fag. I know you are, but you can't just assume-" His protestations were cut off by Loki's laugh - not a snicker of derision, but a proper laugh. He threw his head back, hair flicking backwards, and laughed so loudly that Tony began to think he was broken. "Hey, what is it? Loki!" He rolled his eyes, and nudged Loki on the arm. For once, Loki didn't flinch away; he was laughing too hard.

Eventually he got control of himself, and wiped his eyes weakly. His face creased up once more into a grin, and, eyes sparkling, he explained. "Back home - Britain - we call cigarettes fags. I suppose it's from faggots of wood-" Tony snorted at that, shaking his head, and muttered something about "crazy Imperialists", but reached out and took a fresh cigarette from the packet. He leaned forwards, and touched the end of his to the end of Loki's. Ash fell off, and landed on the sidewalk beneath the bench. Tony stamped on it, and ground it into dust. He nodded towards the "No Smoking" sign. "Don't want the powers that be to see."

Loki tilted his head slightly. "I thought you didn't care?" Tony shrugged. "Well, the friend of my parents, who's looking after me - well, he's sort of my butler. But I guess you're used to that. And anyway, Jarvis - that's his name - would be disappointed. I guess he's the only person I care about, so far anyways." He shrugged again, and sat down on the bench. "So, tonight!" His voice was free from the slight bitterness of a second ago, and filled instead with enthusiasm. "You can just come round mine straight from class, if you like. We have chemistry, don't we? And I'm guessing it wouldn't be great to be at home for you, what with you half-blinding some guy." Loki blew out a plume of smoke, and nodded. The smoke curled around his fingers and hands. Tony looked away, and carried on speaking. "So, my chauffeur (he's called Happy, and he is) can pick us up, and he can drop you back home again later."

"Why?" Loki's voice was quiet, and Tony had to strain to hear. "Why are we even meeting? What is it, a study date? Isn't that what you all call it? Why do you care?" His voice rose in volume as he spoke, and Tony spoke quickly to avoid another Thor-orientated rant. "I care because I don't want to fail. I really, really don't want to have to spend more time in high school - I've already done most of it anyway, but they made me do it again because I was too lazy to work. I should be at MIT right now - I was scheduled to go years ago but then everything got fucked up. And I'm not failing because of you." He was breathing heavily, and had almost forgotten about the cigarette hanging loosely from his fingers. Loki tapped it gently, releasing the ash that had threatened to fall on his shoes, and Tony nodded his thanks. He took a long drag on the cigarette, and Loki did the same, pursing his lips and closing his eyes as he did so. It looked almost sinful, and the look of ecstasy on his face only added to that.

The bell rang for the end of lunch, and they both stamped on their cigarettes, and then kicked them under the bench into the gravel. There were cleaners to deal with that sort of thing, anyway. They picked up their bags - Tony had a rather first-grade messenger bag, covered with some cartoon superhero, as far as Loki could make out. He picked up his own satchel (bespoke, leather - the only present his father had ever chosen for him, and not given him the same thing Thor got) and they walked to class.

Chemistry was crowded. They were still doing titrations, and Miss (Mrs) Potts clearly expected Tony to have caught up by now. But Loki whispered the answers to him every time she asked, and she was appeased; the lesson went quickly, and there were no outbursts from either of them. A first, perhaps, Loki thought.

In no time at all, it seemed, the bell had rung for the end of school. Tony leaped up, and, grabbing Loki by the hand, ran out the classroom. Loki had no chance but to follow, and they careered down the corridors until they reached the parking lot. The other students stared, and when they ran past Thor, his face was a study in incredulity. "Loki! What are you doing? You can't just leave-"

Loki looked behind him, and laughed aloud. "I do what I want, Thor!" he called, and Tony laughed with him. They skidded to a stop outside the biggest, tackiest car that Loki had ever seen. It said "Stark Industries" across the hood, and a man with dark, slightly curly hair got out. He was wearing a grey suit, and he smiled. "A stray? What's your name, sir?" he asked Loki. Tony nudged Loki to speak, and he coughed, and then said "Loki Odinson, sir."

The man laughed. "Call me Happy, kid. I like to keep things informal." He opened the door, and Tony jumped in. Loki followed, and as they were doing up their seatbelts Tony said "I pay you to keep things informal, Happy!" They both laughed, and Loki smiled. He wasn't used to chauffeurs being happy or friendly. In England, they'd been happy and friendly with Thor, because he used to laugh and joke and climb on their backs as a child, but they avoided Loki (he made a habit of telling them how he couldn't wait to leave home, and how he hated them, and they thought of him as a sulky, sullen child. He preferred the term "brooding", but sadly they'd ignored this.)

The car started up, with a quiet hum, and Happy pulled out into the road. "So, Loki. I'm guessing you're not from round here, with that accent and name?" Loki smiled, more relaxed than Tony had ever seen him, and started to explain. "My father and his family are from Norway or Sweden, but we're not sure whereabouts. My mother too, but she left home, and we think she's still in England. I grew up here, as did Thor, my brother. But he spent more time with my father when we were small, and my dad," he paused, and Tony realised that he didn't mind talking about for once - no resentful comments yet - but before Tony could comment, Loki had carried on. "My dad speaks English with the careful phrases of a foreigner - he's not got an accent any more but his words are odd. And Thor's the same. But I spent more time by myself, so I speak more normally. I watched a lot of telly." He paused again. Happy caught his eye in the wing mirror of the car, and smiled.

"Wow, that's a lot more exciting than my background! Or Tony's, for that matter. He can drive, in case you're wondering. He just can't be bothered, but he did modify the car a little. Get him to show you sometime. Say, how do you two know each other?" He looked towards Tony, and then back at the road.

"We sit next to each other in Chemistry, Math, History, and basically all our subjects. He's in AP too like me," Tony bragged, and Happy smiled indulgently. "Now, he's helping me with Chemistry because I was away when we did titrations, and he's been told to help me." Loki broke in, speaking loudly, voice filled with amusement. "It's a punishment." Happy laughed out loud, and said "Ah, I hope you won't lead him astray," gesturing towards Tony. "Not that he could be led astray much more than he already has, anyway. The things that boy gets up to..." He paused, as if remembering, and then winced. Tony looked towards Loki. "We're nearly there."

Loki looked out the window, and saw a huge house at the end of the narrow road. It was painted white, and there were windows covering it. They reflected the fountain in the courtyard outside many times over, and the sunlight made the grass around the path gleam brightly. It looked like a nice, well-kept house - but not a house for an 18-year-old genius. More like a house for his parents. The car pulled up, and Happy got out to open the doors, and then led them towards the front door, which was painted a bright red.

"Yeah. This is me," Tony said, and he sounded almost embarrassed. Happy pulled out a key-card from one of the pockets on his suit, and swiped it against the lock. A green light was issued from the lock (a laser? Loki wondered) and moved over the three of them; when it encountered Loki it turned red, and the door clicked shut again. Smiling ruefully, he reached up to the brass knocker and lifted it, pressing a four-digit code into the door. A loud sound echoed inside the house, and there were footsteps approaching the door. The door opened, and a man wearing the traditional livery of the butlers of 19th-century England stepped out.

"Sir, welcome home. Who is your friend? I'm Jarvis, the butler." He moved out of the way, and Tony walked in, followed by Loki. What was the world he was in?


	7. Chapter 7

The house was cool inside, but not uncomfortably so. The dark-panelled walls of the entrance hall, covered with what looked like solid gold frames (filled not with portraits, but designs for sorts of machinery), opened out into a wide, circular room. Every wall had windows, and the light cast coloured shadows through the transparent screens that seemingly hung in midair. The door hissed shut behind them as they entered.

Humming from the monitors filled the room, but it wasn't loud enough to drown out the sound of their footsteps – Tony's the soft pad of sneakers, but Loki's the thud of Doc Martens. Behind them, Jarvis followed, the polished clip of his brogues on the floor reminding Loki of the shoes he'd been forced to wear as soon as he could walk. He shuddered, and Tony looked over.

"Are you cold?" he asked, before pulling at a loose thread on Loki's sweater (green, with a picture of a panda on it, meant to be ironic), and saying almost accusingly "Hipster clothes not keeping you warm? Hey, no, what are you even _wearing_?" He laughed, moving his gaze across Loki's body, but then seemed to collect himself and look away.

Loki rolled his eyes. "This is vintage, actually, as are the jeans. I bought the shoes from a shop in Camden which had been a favourite of Malcolm McClaren –" He bowed his head as if in prayer, and carried on. "It's not like you can talk, anyway – Iron Maiden are passé, and you've worn that t-shirt twice this week." Tony quirked an eyebrow at him, and he hastily carried on. "Not that I've been counting."

There was a slight pause in the conversation. "You sure you're warm enough? I can warm the place up –" and he tapped at a panel on the nearest monitor. The room grew warmer instantly, and Loki regretted his sweater.

"No, I'm not cold. Just… reminded of something somewhat unfortunate." He turned, but Jarvis had gone – he had that age-old butler trick, then, of gliding silently from room to room. Tony caught his movement, and said "He does that. It used to freak me out, but then I figured that if only one person in this house is loud, I might as well do it properly. Hence the rockets." He gestured to a desk in the far corner, where a welding mask and blowtorch sat, along with piles of papers and equations.

Loki raised an eyebrow, and walked – loped, Tony thought – over to the desk. He leant over it, sweater riding up to show the pale, bony lines of his spine, and the curve of his back where it dipped below his jeans. Tony shook his head slightly (since when were skinny _guys_ with penises and stupid dress sense attractive? Yeah, never) and raised his voice. "It's mainly quantum physics there, trying to get the rockets (which are theoretical right now) to act as light photons. They're miniature rockets, the size of a light photon. I figured if I could get them to act both as a wave and a particle on the small scale (which would mean they could travel as light does, and potentially as fast), I could do it on the big. But yeah, it's purely theoretical right now."

The glare from the overhead lamp lit up Tony's face as he talked, and Loki couldn't help but stare. "Finally, someone who understands English." He watched as Tony smirked, and then paused almost bashfully. What was this? The great Tony Stark, shy? Surely not.

"So, we need to do this project. And I have a spare lab – we can just pick a cool project and do it there. It doesn't have to be about chemistry. I mean, we have chemistry together-" Loki barked in laughter-"so that makes sense-" he paused, and reconsidered his words. "We have lessons together in chemistry. You know what I mean. Maybe we should do something vaguely to do with physics? Like the stuff I've been doing. It's pretty good – it's excellent, in fact. And we could use it without the school knowing, because they have no idea how smart I actually am." He grinned triumphantly at Loki, teeth gleaming in the lights that flashed on the screens. "Come on, let's go get comfy." He turned out of the room, the doors moving before him, and Loki followed dumbly.

They wove a complex pattern in the maze of corridors that was the ground floor of the house, guided by Tony's sat-nav (or whatever he called it – Stark-Nav) in his watch. "Seriously?" Loki was incredulous. "You need sat-nav to get around your house? Bloody hell, and I thought my father was over the top!"

Tony pouted slightly at that. "It's Stark-Nav, actually. It's more compact and generally cooler than shitty sat-nav, and it's much sexier. Look." He waved his wrist in Loki's face, and Loki could see that the image on the screen was a curvaceous woman, who spoke directions aloud. He sniggered, and Tony frowned. "You can also get attractive men, look –" and the image on the screen flickered, before being replaced by a man with blond hair and a muscular physique, tall.

Loki raised his eyebrows, and Tony's frown grew deeper. "Hey, what's wrong with that guy? Loads of the girls I spoke to told me he was the best!" He paused, and then said "Not your type? I might have known. You hipsters, so desperate to be different." Loki raised his eyebrows higher, and pushed his hair off his face.

"My type? I don't suppose I have one. I like clever people – apparently it's called "sapiosexual", and haven't you heard? Brainy's the new sexy." He smirked at Tony, but carried on talking. "Why aren't you running a mile? Or a kilometre, whatever it is the Yanks do? I know you've only been here a month, but the straight guys aren't exactly rushing to befriend me, much less discuss my "type"." He quirked his head to the side, and ran his hand through his hair again.

Tony shrugged. "Well, I guess, I grew up in Long Island. And in the city, you just accept people, you know? Like, when 9/11 happened, I remember this guy who lived a few houses down from me. And he was gay, and I was in the city when it happened. I was crying, because I was scared, and he found me and took me home. But my parents were out, so we hung out for a bit. He was really cool." He paused, and looked Loki in the eyes. "When my parents found out where I'd been, they told the police. Well, not them, but my dad's old business partner, Obadiah. And Obie told the police I'd been… you know, touched." He swallowed, and frowned. "The guy got arrested. I never saw him again."

There was a silence in the corridor, and they turned into a room with sofas from wall to wall. Tony flopped down on one, and gestured to Loki to do the same. There was a plate of cookies on the table; Loki took one – chocolate – and turned to Tony. "So, you're sympathetic? I mean, 9/11 was over a decade ago. We've got (and I speak for my people) a lot more sympathisers now. Why do you care about me, specifically? I thought there was the whole "Don't ask, don't tell" thing here."

Tony rolled his eyes. "Look, just accept that I can be a friend. Not a friend, but like, if you need to talk, and my God that was a girly sentence – I don't mind. We have to do this idiotic project together anyway, so we might as well get on." He fell silent, as if exhausted by the act of telling Loki this, but the tension was palpable.

"So, what about this pizza you promised?" Tony grinned, but Loki's phone in his pocket buzzed, and he pulled it out to answer it. Glancing back at Tony, he saw the caller ID and sighed dramatically.

"Brother dearest." Thor was angry, and spoke loud enough for Tony to hear most of it.

"Loki! You can't just go waltzing off to some stranger's house! Father wants to speak to you about Nick Fury, and you need to stay away from Tony Stark. He's bad news. I do not want you getting into trouble, as you did last year."

Loki rolled his eyes. "I'll be home later. Or I might just go to a bar in the city, you know, find some pretty boy. Might bring him home to meet Father. That would piss him off, wouldn't it?" He grinned wickedly at Tony, snickering down the line, before winking at him. Tony almost winked back.

There was almost a roar from the other end of the line. "Do not aggravate him even more!" Thor tried to carry on speaking, but a girl's voice broke through his words. "Loki? This is Jane. I'm –"

Loki ended the call with a click. "I really don't want to have to listen to them fucking for hours, again," he said in response to Tony's silent question, who smirked at that. "Fucking family," he agreed, and reached out onto a sideboard. "Beer?" He threw the can to Loki, who looked at it blankly for a few seconds, then refocused. "No, thanks. You drink too much, Stark."

Tony grinned. "Well, we all need our vices, right? And from what I've heard, yours are worse than mine. I don't _sell drugs _much, unlike someone I can mention." He grinned, trying to reclaim the moral high ground – tricky for a guy with no morals. In response, Loki merely rolled his eyes again.

The doorbell rang. Except it wasn't a doorbell, it was an internal delivery system of some sort, piled high with Pizza Hut boxes. "Pizza Hut? Not bought it out yet? No "Stark Hut" in sight, then?" Tony reached over, and punched him lightly in the side. Loki twisted away like a cat.

Then he suddenly thought about what the fuck he was doing. Okay, so he was… attracted to this guy. So what? One guy doesn't make you gay, right? He could fancy Loki and remain professional.

He sighed. Who the hell was he kidding? Professional? He'd just punched him, just to get an excuse to touch him. This was getting weird – and Loki was gay, so it was even weirder. Nothing could happen between them, as he'd found out from his dad. He'd been fifteen when his dad had caught him wanking over one of the firemen calendars his mom always bought (had she suspected?), and he'd been told that it was unnatural. "You're my finest creation, son, and you won't be gay. You have to carry on the family line, carry on the Starks." It was typical of Howard Stark – to mix praise with censure, and so Tony had thrown away the hoarded calendars and magazines he'd stolen, one by one, from the gay guy across the street, and had concentrated on girls. It wasn't that hard, really – no pun intended, although that had been a problem too. He just had to remove temptation.

But now temptation was splayed across his couch, licking tomato sauce off his fingers, pale limbs spread-eagled. Right, so focus, he told himself.

"So, what music are you into? I'm guessing it's nothing like what I like." Loki looked up, and shrugged. "You won't have heard of it, not if you're still stuck in the dark ages. I like PJ Harvey, she's cool. And Cashier No. 9, but again I don't think you'll know them. Not enough noise for you." He shrugged once more, and took another piece of pizza. Tony watched him hungrily.

Without looking at Tony, Loki started to speak; in such a quiet voice that Tony had to lean closer to hear. "You have to remember that I'm a genius. It's the one area where I can overshadow my brother. And I know that you think you can use me as some sort of experiment. It's been tried before."

Tony was silent, shocked. Then, something stupid in him broke free. "I'm not using you for anything, apart from trying to pass my fucking classes! I need you for that and nothing else! God, what is with you people?"

Loki's voice was the quiet, menacing hiss of a snake. "You people? Oh, stereotyping now, are we? We're not friends, Stark. You'd do well to remember that." He stood up to go, and even as Tony's anger rose (veering between "what a liar" and "how did he know?"), he couldn't help himself but watch the slight curve where Loki's spine ended. Inappropriate, he chastised himself.

"Wait!" He stood, too, and grabbed at Loki's arm. "I didn't mean – I don't – I like you. And maybe I like girls too, but I haven't met any girls I liked in that way yet. I guess the chemistry teacher? Hey, did you know, she's married to Happy?" He paused, and then reminded himself of the serious matter he was talking about. "Yeah, I – I hope we can be friends, because I-"

Loki broke in, eyes glinting. He had to play his part right, he reasoned."You just assume that you can befriend me? Do you think I choose my friends the same way my brother does? Do you think you can use me to prove something to your dead father? Just because you once met a gay guy doesn't mean you can use me!" He was breathing hard, spots of colour high in his cheeks, and he was the most beautiful thing Tony had ever seen. "

Apparently, Tony was turning into a girl.

Loki sat back down, pulling Tony back onto the sofa with him. "I'm not an experiment. I'm not a rocket or a photon, and you can't use me as such." His voice had dropped an octave, and was husky, almost a growl; he leaned forwards until he and Tony were breathing the same air. "You can't use me, you understand? I'm not going to be used by anyone. And don't you dare feel sorry for me." Tony swallowed, and leaned forwards again, closed the gap between their lips. It was just like a kiss with a girl, he reasoned. Same body parts, here at least. Loki's skin was smooth – he had the slightest trace of stubble, and it felt better than the skin of the last girl he'd kissed (foundation all in his carefully maintained goatee). The touch was there, but barely, lightly, and Loki's lower lip was slightly moist.

The dynamic changed. Loki fisted his fingers in Tony's hair, where it met the nape of his neck, and Tony responded in kind, threading his through Loki's hair until their lips bruised together. Tony's fingers, calloused from too many chemical spills, almost caressed Loki's neck, and they fitted together, mouth-to-mouth, as if they were resuscitating each other simply by the faint smell of cigarettes on each other's breath, and the warmth of their bodies.

Loki's hand moved down along Tony's chest, sending bolts of lightning through his skin where his long fingernails trailed, and settled on his him, curling around the bone. Their bodies mirrored each other; chests pressed together, mouths locked as one, and Loki's tongue swept over Tony's lower lip, moistening It and weakening him at the knees, before moving deeper, hungrily. Loki's other hand moved from the top of Tony's spine to his jaw, and he brushed it with his thumb.

Tony broke away, looking at Loki as if he'd just moved the sun and earth. "That was –" he paused, not trying to hide how heavy his breathing was. Loki reached out again, and this time pulled on the neck of his t-shirt, dragging their mouths together again. Tony's stubble rubbed on his face; he would have a red rash there in the morning, but it was all worth it for the hungry movements of their mouths and the mixing of their breath –

Loki's phone rang again, and he swore in Tony's mouth, before twisting away from him. His face was flushed, and his eyes were shining without their usual cynical glint. He grabbed his phone from the floor, where it had been dislodged, and answered it. "What, Thor?" Tony was gratified to see that his breathing was as laboured as his own, and kept watching Loki. Was he gay? Or was it just Loki? Did this make him a full-on homosexual, an "abomination" as his father had said?

"Thor, I'm busy –No, why's he here? Damn! Did you tell him? Go away. I'll talk to you later." He hung up the phone, and muttered "I have to go. My father's outside, and he's angry. I won't tell him about what just happened, and I'm guessing you won't tell anyone. In fact, you're probably having a good old hetereo crisis right now, correct?" He spoke so quickly (a sign of his anger, Tony had learned in the month or so they'd been talking) that Tony couldn't get a word in edgeways; he reached out and pulled at Loki's shirt until it lay flat once more.

"I'll see you tomorrow, I guess. My number's in your phone already," said Loki, and smiled at him, making the corners of his eyes crinkle. Tony's whole body ached, and Loki leaned down and kissed him once on the corner of his mouth, chastely, and turned to go.

"Hang on, how do I get out?" He was looking at the maze of doors incomprehensively. Tony stood, and tilted his head at Loki, who followed once more. They walked several feet apart, as if they were afraid of getting too close, like magnets, and the tension between them was of a different kind to normal.

"Goodbye, Mr. Odinson," said Jarvis, looming from the entrance hall. "I trust you enjoyed your visit." He looked sternly at Tony, as if he knew exactly what had gone on in the sitting room, and Tony suddenly remembered the security cameras in every room. Great, wonderful, his entire house had seen him being gay and liking it. Oh, fantastic.

Loki smiled disarmingly, and there was something in his face that said he knew that Jarvis knew. "Yes, thank you. I hope I didn't encroach on your hospitality." Tony stared – perhaps good breeding was worth something if he could shake hands with a man who'd just watched him aggressively kissing his employer. With that, the door opened (no need for the card this time, Loki noticed) and he walked outside to the waiting car. The door slammed, and sped off without anyone inside it speaking.

Tony looked at the appalled faces of his employees, and could do nothing but laugh.


	8. Chapter 8

Loki sat, glaring at his father, at the monstrous oak table that served as the hub of their so-called family. This was what served for an office, the hub from where Odin ran the kingdom of companies – seven in all – he'd nicknamed "Yggdrasil" (oh, how original and interesting. Not.); Loki wasn't sure what the companies did, because Thor had (of course) been earmarked for takeover as soon as he'd been able to push Loki over "playfully", but it sounded boring. His father spent most of his time trying to teach Thor, who, Loki thought wryly, had barely mastered basic arithmetic; Thor found it dull as well, but accepted that he would do as his father had done, and as his father had done. He had very little imagination, really – but people tended to forget about the second-rate, second-born sons.

The room was cool; the windows, which had been shuttered and locked, loomed up to the ceiling. Odin sighed, and Loki looked away, into the empty fireplace. He thought about the smooth skin at the back of Tony Stark's neck, and smiled to himself. Not that he cared, of course.

"Loki." Odin spoke, sounding world-wearied, and Loki turned back to look at his father. Was he finally being acknowledged? He scowled to hide the leap of excitement deep in his chest, quashing it, and raised an eyebrow sardonically towards Odin. Before his father could speak, he went on the offensive.

"Okay, so I suppose this is because I didn't tell you where I was. And Thor probably did tell you, which is how you knew to come and pick me up. But, have you ever considered the fact that I'm an adult in my own right? Probably not, because it was Thor's birthday before mine." He paused, and forced out a slow breath from his nose; he thought of Tony Stark again, and had to fight to hide his smirk.

"Loki, stop. I love you both equally. You were both born equal, and that is still the case. But your mother phoned me –" Loki looked up at that, all thoughts of Tony gone. His mother? He opened his mouth to speak, but paused; Odin smiled gently at him and said "She and I discussed something, and we have decided that we need to tell you this."

Mind furiously whirring, Loki scratched his head, and inhaled sharply, before speaking. "Are you going to tell me alone? I want to see her-"

Odin spoke over him. "Yes, she's coming home – well, she's flying here – next Thursday. There are no other flights, and she apologises –"

This time, it was Loki who interrupted. "Is it important? Will you tell me now, and we can pretend? Is it about the company? Am I going to be CEO, not Thor? Oh, why a week?" He pouted in child-like irritation, and suddenly thought that for the first time in over a year, his parents would be together again. He cleared his throat. "Are you and mum… okay now? I mean, you haven't spoken to her for ages!"

Odin squeezed his good eye closed as if in regret, and shook his head slightly. "She and I – I don't know, Loki. I wish I did." There was a slight pause in the conversation – one of the longest they'd had for years, and remarkably swearing-free. Nobody had even mentioned "perversions of nature" yet. They were on a roll.

Odin turned, and looked towards the ceiling. The sound of Thor and Jane's voices could be heard clearly, but Odin raised his voice to call. "Thor! Come here for a moment, please!"

There was a pause (presumably, thought Loki, for Thor to put his clothes back on and such), and then his thundering footsteps were heard, before he bounded into the room himself, shirt half-unbuttoned and hair wild. It was then that Loki realised that he'd never noticed the fact that they'd been fucking for at least a week now – usually, everything Thor did registered for him, and everyone Thor did, too. But not this time; he wondered what was different, before reminding himself that he didn't give a damn.

"Your mother is coming back, in a week. Just so that you know. She – she'll be staying here, in the guest room." He pulled slightly at the eye-patch that hid his empty eye socket (he had false eyes, of course – but Loki had hidden them last year), as if wiping away a tear that would never come. Sentiment weakened him – he'd never told them how he'd lost the eye, but Loki presumed it had something to do with Frigga, or his days in the army.

Thor's face cracked into a huge grin, and his eyes lit up with genuine enthusiasm. Odin smiled back, and hugged him (awkwardly; he never was one for affection). God, how sickening (thought Loki), and he stood, stretching languidly. "I'm going upstairs for the weekend. Things to do. I'll see you on Monday." He smiled sarcastically, and left the room before his father and brother could react. That was a speciality of his – "sneaking", as it had been put to him by many.

Upstairs, in his room, he brooded. And yes, it was brooding – not "sulking", whatever anyone else said. His mother was coming back (he felt a flicker of sorrow that his father couldn't call where they had lived for a year home, but he dismissed it), and they had something to tell him. Brilliant, thanks for the surprise. He hated surprises – but at least it was an uneasy truce.

His phone beeped – it was a text message from an unknown number. It had been sent earlier that evening, but his Nokia brick had issues with everything. After all, it was made in 2003, but it had the original Snake game on it, which outweighed all technical issues. The message read "Hey, this is Tony :)", and as he held his phone, it beeped again with another message.

"You left your sweater at my house. I'll give it to you in Chemistry." Right, so Stark was playing the "I'm a straight guy who just had my first gay experience and now I'm freaking out and so I will be professional and ignore anything that might or might not have happened" game. Well, that was fine. He was used to that, and Tony seemed to be the kind of guy who would freak out harder than most. He smirked, and leaned back in his chair, thinking of the chemical burns that had roughened Tony's fingers, and the slight smell of smoke on his breath.

He picked up his phone from where it had fallen into a pile of clothes (his room was averagely messy, but with large quantities of alcohol, weed and pills stashed in various places – if he tidied it, he'd have nowhere to put them), and called the number, long nails slipping slightly on the buttons. It rang twice, and then a belligerent "Hello?"

He cleared his throat. Phone calls weren't his style, really; he preferred to text, but it would be easier to talk to Tony rather than rely on what can be read from between a few lines of text speak. And anyway, subtext was hard enough to spot – why make it harder by texting?

"Hello? Is this Loki?" Tony had obviously gotten impatient with his silence – but there was another pause as he seemed to remember that it had to be awkward. Or at least, he had to make it awkward. But then he sounded drunk, so this might be easier than first thought.

"Yeah, it's me. I just wanted to say – if you want, I can come round yours tomorrow and collect it? I like it, and it's getting colder anyway so I will need it." He paused, bait laid, and waited. Tony, on the other end of the line, swallowed as he considered, before inhaling sharply.

"Er, I'd rather you didn't. There's a party on tomorrow, a society thing, and I have to go as the last representative of the Stark family. All the bigwigs are going to be there – the Xaviers, Bruce Wayne, me. And I had to bring a guest, but I didn't know who to ask. And I can't ask anyone from school because I don't know anyone –" he breathed deeply, and when he started talking again, it was slower; the panicked edge had left his voice. "Okay, we need to talk."

Loki shrugged, and said "I'd rather talk to you face to face." He swivelled his chair around, and turned to face the large mirror which hung in his room, and frowned critically at his reflection, waiting; rummaging in a box under his desk, he pulled out a bottle of pills. He rattled two out into the palm of his hand, and tossed them into his mouth. He needed to sleep tonight.

Tony muttered something under his breath, and in the mirror, Loki's face was split by a smile. "What was that?" He could almost hear Stark rolling his eyes, and then he forced out "I _said_, I don't want to bother you. I can have Happy drop it round – he won't be cheerful about it, but he never is about anything, despite how he acted around you – if you'd like?"

Raising his eyebrows in the mirror, Loki spat "Oh, cut the bullshit, Stark. You're freaking out, because I'm a guy and you kissed me. We kissed, whatever. But seriously, you can't hide from me forever – we have Chemistry together on Monday. And in any case, I don't even like you. And you don't like me. You seem to have integrated yourself into my life without any fuss, so you can probably remove yourself with little fuss, as well. Do you want to do that?"

He could hear Tony's breathing hitch on the line, and then Tony spoke, so quietly it seemed that all his bravado had melted away. "You can come round tomorrow. Wait, no, meet me in the park in town. My house will be full of rich twats. I'll bring your sweater. Jumper. Whatever the hell you call it."

Loki grinned, and whispered "Goodnight, Tony Stark", before hanging up the phone and throwing himself onto his bed, where he promptly fell asleep, despite the flashing of his phone that heralded a new message.

Across town, Tony sat up, waiting for a reply to his message. It had been desperate and fairly pathetic – "I'm looking forward to seeing you" – and he was glad that so far, it hadn't heralded an answer. He had been drinking (of course), as he so often did, in an attempt to forget Loki's skin. But with each swig of the bottle, with each burn as the whisky seared his throat, his mind was assailed with images: long, pale fingers, fisting in his hair; the shivers up his spine caused by the tracing of nails across his back; Loki's perfect lips and teeth on his. Okay. So this was a problem.

He stood up, and walked to where he'd thrown his cell after he'd been hung up on. Seriously, nobody had ever hung up on Tony Stark. Ever. Apart from this skinny, lanky guy from England, with a ridiculous accent and a stupid haircut and fucking beautiful eyes, and a penchant for tight t-shirts and trousers.

Forcing the thought from his mind, he dialled a number, and waited for the other end to pick up. "Yeah, Veronica? It's Tony. Do you want to come over? Yeah, usual drill." He waited for the voice to agree, and nodded, saying "In ten? You know the way. Jarvis will let you in," before hanging up, and putting the phone far out of reach. He really, really didn't need to call anyone tonight – he preferred to rely instead on his network of ex-girlfriends, therapists, doctors (how on earth had these women been allowed to practice?), who were more than willing, often, to oblige for another turn in the spotlight.

He quickly pulled off his shirt and pants, and turned to look in the full-body mirror. His body was tanned, his muscles well-developed but not overtly so, and he was an attractive guy. He knew this, and nobody had ever told him otherwise. He refilled his glass, whisky slopping over the brim, and drank it in one swallow. "Good practice," he said out loud, and then laughed to himself, too loudly. He was making blowjob jokes to himself. Really good effort, Tony.

The bell rang (well, it was an automated buzzer disguised as a bell, but close enough), and Tony swore. He dropped the glass, but it didn't break – merely rolled across the floor, where it clinked against another. He blinked, and wasn't sure any more if it was two glasses or four – but he turned and went to sit (collapse) onto his bed (red and gold duvet cover), and the door opened.

A tall girl, with red cropped hair, walked into the room. She looked good, he told himself. He was straight, he was straight, he told himself. "Oh, Tony," she sighed, taking in his state. She dropped her bag on the floor, and walked over to sit next to him. He looked straight at her, and smiled crookedly, and then leant forwards to kiss her. She was wearing a green shirt, like Loki, and he could barely look at her; he was semi-hard already, but from her or thoughts of Loki, he wasn't sure.

It was a clumsy kiss, noses bumping, but she responded, tongue slipping in between his teeth all too quickly. She gently pressed him back onto the bed, still kissing. He kissed her, of course, but he was on autopilot. She was nice, sure, and she was pretty, and stuff, but she – his ruminating cut off when she ran her fingers through his hair; he stiffened, and she stopped. "Is something wrong?"

He forced himself to smile at her, and through the whisky haze courtesy of Jack Daniel's, he slurred "No, you just reminded me of someone." She tugged his head back towards her mouth again, and slipped her fingers down to his stomach; his fingers curled across her chest, but he carried on talking. "I mean, it's fine, you're both good kissers, but he's more –"

There was a terrible, drawn-out pause. She sat up, and moved away from him; he reached for her again, but she shook him off. "No, Tony. No. You can't just kiss me, and touch me, and fucking expect to have sex with me, when you've been kissing a guy. A guy, Tony. Jesus, I – you were straight as they come! You fuck tonnes of girls! How –" She stopped talking, and then Tony remembered what he'd said. He moved towards her again, and she stood up, before stalking over to get her bag from where she'd dropped it on the floor. Her heels clacked on the floor, despite the luxurious carpet.

"I'm not gay." It sounded so pathetic, even to his own ears, and judging by the snort (seriously, ladies snorted?) he received from Veronica, she thought so too. "Whatever, Tony. You can't invite me here to have sex with you, and then casually mention you're fucking a guy –"

He interrupted her then. "I'm not. Fucking him, I mean. I don't even know if I want to –" She looked down at him, half-naked and swaying slightly, where he sat on the bed, and sighed again. "Talk to him. I'm serious. And you'd better be nice to me. Invite me to your society ball this weekend, or I'll accidentally tell the press. Who is he?"

Tony rolled his eyes. "Fine, fine. I needed a date anyway. And I don't want to talk to him because he's a total bastard and a general fucked-up snob. So yes, please do come tomorrow evening. Imagine what the press would say if they knew who I fucking fancied –" He broke off, and then looked ruefully up at her through bleary eyes. "I'm sorry. I think you should go."

She leant forward, as if to kiss him on the cheek, but then slapped him so hard that his head whipped to the side. He brought a hand up to feel his face in disbelief, and she turned and walked out, but before she left, she turned to hiss "Nice to see you show some fucking emotion. Even if you are a fag now. Why did I waste my time on you?" Her voice broke, and she choked out a sob before slamming the door and storming down the stairs. The sound of picture frames being knocked from the walls followed her exit, and then the dull thud of the front door.

A voice came over the intercom – it was Jarvis. "Sir, are you alright?" Tony scowled, and muttered "Yeah, I'm peachy. Er, I'm going to bed now, so can you shut the intercom off please? Thanks."

He lay down, the world spinning slightly, and found his mind drifting back to Loki's mouth, the curve of his spine. He reached inside his boxers, and imagined how Loki's long fingers would wrap around him, and how his long nails would feel when they were drawn lightly along the underside, and how Loki's beautiful mouth would mutter obscenities under his breath when Tony returned the favour; how Loki's fingers would tangle in the mess of hair around his cock, and how fucking good it would feel; the feel of lips pressed against his shoulder, and the sharp jut of Loki's hips, how they'd buck when he came; the gentle curve of Loki's spine, and dip of his stomach, lightly toned; his pale skin flushed with pleasure and want and desire; Tony's fingers moved faster and his breathing grew deeper and faster, more erratic -

He came, harder than he'd ever come before - and the world went white for a split second. He lay, panting, his bedclothes messy and his mind full of Loki, and suddenly his body was boneless. Okay, so he'd just wanked over a guy. A fucking guy. "Jesus, Tony," he muttered. "Get your fucking dick under control." He frowned. "I kissed a girl, though," he told his reflection in the mirror, "and I got hard from it. So I'm not gay."

He pulled his boxer shorts off all the way (they were getting cold and sticky, and uncomfortable) and then turned the duvet over, and slept deeply. He didn't dream at all.


	9. Chapter 9

The next morning was cold on both sides of town; the wind that had blown down from the mountains above the houses rattled the windows in their frames, and a thin frost had painted the ground a shimmering white. The sky was a brilliant, unflinching blue, broken by thin clouds. Winter was coming.

Loki (officially grounded for several months, since that incident with the pot brownies and the next-door-neighbour's bake sale) slid his window up, and climbed out onto the balcony with a practiced ease. If anyone had seen him, he would have reminded them of a gymnast or a dancer – a focused sort of strength. His feet easily fitted into the gaps in the trellis (nothing grew there – the roses his mother had planted had long withered and he'd preferred the brambles that had crept in, anyway), and he dropped to the ground lightly – despite his heavy boots.

The crunch of the frosty grass under his feet amused him; like a child, he stomped slightly harder (Doc Martens were really the best boots for this sort of weather). Tiny pieces of ice were soon covering the bottoms of his jeans, but he didn't mind. He liked the cold; it suited him, and he could wear jumpers and scarves and hats (although he hadn't worn a woolly hat for years, in public). Plus, in the winter, everyone was as pale as he was. The cold soon brought colour to his cheeks, and he looked years younger - his face was free from the habitual wronged look, and his lips even tilted into a slight smile.

The church bells were ringing across the town – it was ten in the morning, and he'd be late if he didn't hurry up. His footsteps quickened in time with the music on his iPod ("Songs of Rebellion and Resistance"), and soon he arrived at the park gates. They were locked, and Tony Stark was leaning against them. He was tapping his foot impatiently on the ground, and holding an unlit cigarette.

"I hope you realise the sacrifice I made to be here. There's a naked girl in my bed right now." He smirked, but it was half-hearted – Loki's eyes narrowed.

"You can't lie to a liar. Or bullshit a bullshitter, whatever the word you lot use. If there had been a naked girl (he grimaced slightly in mock distaste) in your bed, you wouldn't be here. Do you even like girls anymore? And you have oil on your hands again, so I'm guessing you've been mucking around with scrap iron – the only girl you've been near today is probably a robot with metal tits." He raised an eyebrow.

Tony snorted. "Well, someone's been watching Sherlock. And yes, I watch it too – I mean, I have to keep tabs on all fellow geniuses. What if someone's smarter than me? I mean, okay, Sheldon Cooper is probably at a similar level, intellectually. But I have the upper hand socially." He sniffed, and rubbed his hands together in an attempt to warm them. "You get weather like this in England?"

Loki pulled the fingers of his gloves further up, and shrugged. "Erm, a couple of years ago we had a load of snow. Like, where I live we had a couple of feet – and it was early in December. That was fun. Thor didn't like it so much though, and he was persuaded to go and rescue his goats (don't ask) – they'd been mysteriously let out of their pen." He looked away at Tony's inquiring look, and spoke on.

"And then he got lost in the snow, which I didn't plan. I was – well, I was worried; I thought he would never come back, but he did, six days later. And he'd grown a ridiculous beard to keep his face warm – that's why he's got a pathetic excuse for one now. He thinks it makes him look tough." He snorted derisively, but his eyes were still troubled.

"How did your family take it, him being gone?" Tony had no idea what it was like to share love of parents – in fact, he had no idea what it was like to have the love of his parents – but he could imagine they wouldn't have been happy if their arguably (and Loki would argue until Kingdom come) favourite son had gone missing for nearly a week.

"Oh, my mother (she still lived with us then) cried and cried; my father blamed Thor, then himself, then me. And there were loads of whispered conversations on the stairs that I couldn't hear. When he came back, they threw a huge party (well, my father called it a feast) to "commemorate" the occasion." Loki glanced towards Tony, who was watching his face intently.

"Hey, is that a Slytherin scarf?"Tony said, pointing at the green and silver pattern. "Well, I am surprised. I'd have put you down for a Hufflepuff."

Loki snorted, and punched Tony lightly on the shoulder. Tony almost flinched away at the contact, and then he slid down the gate to sit on the frozen ground. Loki stood still, as if working it out, and then he slid to sit beside Tony. He took careful care not to touch him, though – and he was reminded why they were meeting in the first place.

"Okay." Tony spoke suddenly, and then paused. His face worked, as if he were trying to force the words to come out in some semblance of a sentence. "You – I" he stopped again, and scratched his eyebrow.

"Okay, so let's say that you had a pet in a box, but you didn't know if it was a cat or a dog. And you still looked after it, and you still cared for it and loved it even, but you'd made yourself believe it was a dog because you were a dog person." He looked at Loki

"I'm not a dog perso-" Tony interrupted him "And so you thought it was a dog, and you told all your friends you had a dog. And they bought you dog toys and dog food for it, and let you walk it with them."

"I thought we don't know –" once more, Tony cut him off. "Okay, but still. You and all your friends thought you had a dog. And all your family thought you had a dog."

Loki nodded cautiously. "I think I get it. But what pet shop have you been going to?" He grinned a crooked smile at Tony, who rolled his eyes.

"No, I'm not done yet. Okay. So one day, you meet a new friend who tells you that actually, it's a cat. You have a cat. And you thought you had a dog. For all your life, you'd been acting as if you had a dog – but as soon as you learn you have a cat, it makes more sense. Like maybe it was miaowing or something. And you see that that is in fact what you've had all the time. And you tried to hide it with dog food and dog toys." He paused once more to breathe (the last bit had been almost garbled).

"What if it's a parakeet in the box?" Loki asked, his face a masked of seriousness, but Tony ignored him.

"I'm serious though. I mean, I still like dogs, sure." ("Or bitches," interjected Loki solemnly) . "But I just feel like maybe I am a cat person. And I have slept with so many girls and done so much stupid shit that I just didn't realise it." He shrugged, and then reached into his rucksack and pulled out Loki's jumper. "Here's your sweater."

Loki smiled at him. "I – well, I'm a bit lost for words to be honest. So, are you going to sleep with both? I mean, we don't actually like each other, do we? So you have to keep your options open, Stark. You can't come crawling back." He paused. "It would have improved your shitty metaphor had you been a cat person after all. Double entendres involving pussy are so much more fun. Honestly, call yourself a genius?"

Stark jabbed him in the ribs, and Loki jabbed him back, but before their playfight could escalate, he pressed a quick, chaste kiss onto the corner of Tony's mouth. ."Go to your party, Stark. And by the way, Pottermore, for the little it's worth, sorted me into Slytherin itself." He turned, and walked off, footsteps echoing in the silent air.

Tony pulled another cigarette out of his pocket, and lit it with shaking fingers. Fucking hell.


	10. Chapter 10

The evidence of Tony's party was written all over his face in Maths, and he couldn't remember who had managed to write on it. Luckily, the scrawl wasn't legible – although he was certain it hadn't been anyone at the party, because they were all too busy trying to kiss his ass. (That, on the other hand, was not a literal statement).

Loki wasn't in class that day, and Tony couldn't keep his mind on the equations that were written haphazardly across his paper. He started to write a new one, and then smirked to himself as he decided on something that needed working out:

G = Ti (L + T) when G = gayness, Ti = time spent together, and L and T were obvious. Right. So this had obviously been an inevitable thing, this whole suddenly-liking-boys thing. And he wasn't even sure if it was all boys, or just Loki, but either way – he suddenly thought about the slight curl to the hair that brushed the back of Loki's neck, and lust spiked through him.

Right, he admonished himself. No boners in math. Think of something disgusting; think of mouldy food and dirty washing (okay, so think of his bedroom) but that didn't help because he was reminded suddenly of how hard he'd come the other night when he'd thought about Loki – right, okay, just keep still and it might go down. Okay. And of course nobody was going to know about this, because really it was just Loki and he probably wasn't gay overall. So it was going to stay a secret – the Stark reputation was at stake here.

He was tired, and hadn't changed out of the clothes he'd shoved on after meeting Loki – a bow tie was askew around his neck and the ends of his trousers were torn, because for some reason he'd ended up outside. This was all according to Jarvis, who had picked him after he'd apparently _fallen_ out of a window, and also he'd got a text from Steve telling him that okay, he could join the football team if he wanted. Other than that, the party was a boring blur.

A scrunched-up piece of paper hit the side of his ear, and he turned to face the direction it had come from. A boy wearing an eyepatch (really?) was scowling at him (rather one-sidedly), and he gestured for Tony to un-screw the paper. Glancing round to check that the teacher (he still hadn't learned her name) wasn't looking, Tony unfurled the paper.

In a spiky, angry hand, he read "Tell Odinson to meet me outside the science block after this. Be careful tho, he's a faggot and I think your cool. Good luck on football tryouts. Keep away from my girl tho. Fury." Tony blinked, trying to force his sluggish brain to work out the intended grammar, and then nodded once at the boy. Who on earth was this girl he was supposed to be flirting with? And how on earth had he ended up sort of on the football team?

He looked up at the board, and in the corner of his eye, a movement caught his attention. He smirked. Loki was slinking from the back of the room, his movements lissom, a purple shirt stretched across his chest, although it gaped around his slender wrists. Oh, for fuck's sake, and suddenly Tony was as hard as was probably possible, his trousers uncomfortably tight. Brilliant. So he had his own purple shirt of sex, did he? Typical. Now, he knew how John felt. Jesus fuck.

Nonetheless, when Loki slid into the vacant seat next to Tony, neither of them said anything. Loki's eyes flickered over his face, and he grinned (the mask of sullenness slipping, and giving way to glorious amusement) at the state of him.

"I see you got my message, then?" his voice was lower than usual, and my god, it did nothing to help the boner situation. Everyone was just going to have to think he loved numbers. Right.

"What message? What are you-" it dawned on him then. "You wrote on my face – how, and when, and where? And why?"

Loki grinned. "I was bored, so I thought I'd come and see how your party was going. Don't worry, nobody saw me. I sneaked in through a window and left the same way, but I found you slumped –" here, he raised an eyebrow in mockery – "against the door of your bedroom. So I picked you up –"

Tony interrupted. "Can you really lift me up? You're so skinny, your arms might snap." Loki's fingers splayed across the desk as he laughed, and ignored Tony.

"It says "Dibs", but I wrote it badly on account of you moving. In my defence I thought you'd bother washing and changing your clothes… Obviously not." He grinned at Tony, who scrubbed at his face self-consciously.

"So, I picked you up and put you to bed. You were talking to me, but then when I left you tried to follow me and fell out your window, because you didn't climb. Sort of launched yourself optimistically into the air, and you're not very aerodynamic. But I had to go."

Tony frowned. "That would explain these, then –" and he pulled the sleeve of his sweater up to reveal three deep scratches, still with pieces of thorn in them. "I think –" but his words cut off when Loki's fingers, long and thin and pale, stretched over the marks.

"So, I see that you have a… delicate situation." Tony looked round, but everybody else was deep in work. They sat at the back, in the corner (mainly so that Loki's commentary would go mostly unnoticed by those who had pissed him off) and he muttered "You – I still don't know if I even like you. Well, I know I don't. You're not nice."

Loki's other hand suddenly seized Tony's thigh, and then started to slide up it, squeezing gently at intervals. Tony forgot to breathe, but then forced himself to speak. "Loki, I really don't think –"

Loki laughed, and he squeezed slightly harder. "Oh, look at what we have here. The great Tony Stark, scared of a little risk?" He practically _pouted_ at Tony, who shifted in his seat. Loki's fingers fumbled at his flies for a second, and finally he slipped his fingers inside.

"This is going to be quick," he warned Loki. "And messy, you sick pervert." Loki's eyes merely sparkled with mischief, and he slid his fingers along Tony's length, once. Tony almost gasped; the rough calluses on Loki's fingers from god-knows-what (angrily playing the guitar? Torturing people?) weren't uncomfortable as he might have thought (and obviously he'd not thought about this before, god) and then his fingers were moving, faster and faster, and squeezing (but not uncomfortably so, just enough to make Tony curl his toes up in anticipation) and then he would have moaned but Loki's other hand flew to his mouth, which actually made the whole thing worse because he could smell himself on Loki's fingers –

And the rest of the class were still talking as if nothing earth-moving was happening, and the teacher was looking at him slightly funnily but she dismissed whatever she was thinking, and the friction and heat was almost hurting, but then Loki's thumb moved from where it had been curled around his balls, and rubbed over his slit, and he was almost blinded with the power of his lust; he could feel himself about to let go, and then Loki's other hand, clasped over his mouth, moved and Loki's little finger slipped in; he let himself go, and white pleasure coursed through him.

And his trousers were coated in the stuff, and Loki's fingers slipped out of his pants and gently closed his flies, and then Loki absent-mindedly wiped his hand on his shirt. He looked at Tony, who was panting but trying to hide it, and smirked.

Nobody had even noticed, Loki reasoned. And bloody hell, listening to Stark's breathing and having to stop him moaning had had an effect on him, as well. And his jeans were fucking skinny, and by God, it was uncomfortable. And Tony's perfect goddamned face - but then he looked up to the board, and saw the back of a head he'd put in hospital, and the eyepatch tied on, and his gut sank. Fury was back. "Mark me down as scared and horny", he muttered to himself.

Tony sat as if stunned, tidying away his books without noticing what he was doing. Okay, so it definitely was Loki. He liked Loki, fancied him, whatever. And since it was 2012 and he was quite liberal, he was okay with this. But then Loki didn't seem one to do relationships, just hand-jobs in classrooms, and only then just for the thrill of it.

The bell rang for the end of class, and Loki twitched as if he were about to bolt. He'd clearly thought better of it though. Okay, so if people wanted him to apologise to Fury, he would. Also, it might mean he could go and toss himself off whilst thinking about smiling brown eyes and stubble, all the sooner.

"Odinson." Loki turned at the mention of his name, and walked over to Fury.

"Okay, Fury. I don't like you and you don't like me. But, I'm sorry for fucking up your eye. Truly, I am. I mean, it will make it a lot harder to look out for your team. And I know you wouldn't want any of them to join the dark side, as it were." He shrugged.

"What the literal fuck are you on about, nancy boy?" Fury almost growled, but Loki just turned around and skipped out the room, whistling. "I haven't finished talking to you! What the fuck do you mean?"

He turned to look at Tony. "Right, so football tryouts. Well, to be honest, you're filthy rich, and the girls fucking love you. So you're in, but you don't have to play unless you're actually alright. We want sponsorship and a wider choice of pussy."

Tony cringed internally, but he realised that the pre-Loki Tony would have jumped at the chance to get the Stark name (even more) out there, and he should accept this.

"Cool, cheers man." Fury nodded, clapped him on the shoulder, and walked out.

"Cool," he repeated to the emptying room; he tried his best to sound nonchalant, which was tricky when still covered in your own fucking ejaculate. Good one, Stark, he told himself. You're on a team with people you mostly hate, and you're having a gay crisis with the kid who beat up the captain of said football team because he was being teased for being gay. Excellent life choices.

Bruce appeared from nowhere, with the Xavier kid in tow. "Tony, Charles here wanted to talk to you. "

"Erm, if it's about the party, I wasn't the one who put a load of cats in the house. I literally have no idea who did that. Also it wasn't me who shook up all the champagne bottles. I promise."

Charles smiled, and shook his head. "No, I wanted to ask you about Loki. Are you and him –"

Tony froze, and then his hand shot out to grab at the neck of Xavier's (poncy) shirt. "What the fuck are you insinuating? You're lying, there's nothing going on at all. Nothing. I promise. Like literally I never even talk to him –"

Charles shook himself free, still remarkably dignified. "I was going to ask if you were his friend, because he wrote something on your arm the other night, and when you were trying not to pass out, you showed me. And also, I – well, I'm pretty intuitive. But judging from your reaction –"

Tony, cheeks crimson, fled to the safety of the bathroom. Shit, shit, how the fuck did the kid know? He was "intuitive"? Right, okay, but at least he'd waited until the class was empty. But then Bruce knew as well now, because like always he'd spoken first and asked questions later.

He rolled up his other sleeve, and tilted his head to try to read it. "If found, please put me to bed. I have been drinking." He slumped in relief – he'd almost been expecting a huge cock ejaculating rainbows, or something. But then, as he looked at himself in the mirror, he saw a tiny squiggle which at first had looked just that. But he could see from the reflection, that it was a tiny message – "if you actually get this, I fucking like you" and his heart practically leapt from his chest.

Thor walked into the bathroom just then. "Stark! I heard you have joined the football team! Great news!" he boomed, and then looked down (and down and down) at Tony's arm. "What is that message? Is it from a girl?"

Tony almost laughed at his speech pattern (like he got the whole foreign dad thing but really, who did he think he was, some sort of Viking?) but nodded, hesitantly.

"Sure, it's from a girl I met the other night. She's – well, I think I like her. And I really, really hope she likes me. I'm not used to liking people, you see. I usually fuck a girl and then move on. And I think that, er, _she_, usually does the same thing to people. And she is a bit troubled – she drinks and she takes some sort of weird drug half the time –"

Thor interrupted. "Well, my friend, you should talk to my brother. Loki knows a lot about that sort of thing – he is very useful if you need help with drink or drug things. And he is very knowledgeable due to his experiences. I will talk to him for you –"

Tony tried to protest. "Honestly there's no need; I can –" but Thor swept them aside with a wave of his hand. "Nonsense, I will seek his advice." With that, Thor walked out, hitting his head on the door jamb as he went.


End file.
